


In Flagrante Delicto

by magnoliatattoo (theladyinthecape)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M, Judge Belle, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Really I have a whole 'verse for this, Rumbelle - Freeform, Rumbelle Order In The Court, Smut, Swan Queen - Freeform, Well Plot Comes Later, lawyering, pretty naughty, sex in a judge's chamber, with a great case too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-17 12:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10593654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyinthecape/pseuds/magnoliatattoo
Summary: Written for the 2017 Rumbelle Order in the Court event on Tumblr.This is actually part of a larger work that will be posted later, with plot and everything! :)Thank you to my amazing beta MarieQuiteContrarie.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet our favorite (and not-so-favorite) characters embroiled in crime, passion, and scandal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the prequel chapter to my Rumbelle Order in the Court fic, In Flagrante Delicto. 
> 
> This chapter is unbeta-ed, all mistakes are my own. Feel free to contact me with corrections.

John Gold threw the dingy, rumpled papers onto his desk, heaving a sigh of frustration as he ran his fingers through his hair.

The defense’s argument was thin, void of facts, but rather relying on the nuances of the well-settled law of search and seizure. He had no doubt that he could and would poke holes in every word of the defense’s argument at tomorrow morning’s hearing, but he remained on edge. He chuckled to himself as he recognized that familiar anxiety. He was nervous about the hearing.

No, Killian Jones’ inept drug smuggling and his arrogant defense attorney George Midas were not the cause of his discomfiture. It was the new judge, with her criminal law background, her relative inexperience in a court of law, and her distracting choice of wardrobe that vexed him.

Gold had been assigned the Jones case a year ago; being the senior assistant district attorney for Grimm County had both its highlights and downfalls. The investigation had taken ten months to complete, and Gold had worked closely with the Maine Bureau of Investigation to ensure that all evidence had been gathered legally, and that his case would be airtight once Jones had his day in court.

He had overseen every step in the investigation so that his guilty verdict, once won, would be solid. There was nothing more maddening or potentially costly than making a small mistake when gathering evidence, only to have a guilty verdict overturned on appeal. He knew the law, and he was damn good at arguing it. The facts? Those were for the jury to decide; given the thorough investigation he was confident not one fact in the case pointed to Jones’ innocence.

That left one variable.

The judge.

A good judge was an impartial judge, and he had argued in front of most of the trial judges in Maine. Generally, he found them to be adequate; fair and knowledgeable if not always calculating how their next move would affect the upcoming judicial elections. He typically researched any new judge that he would be appearing before, but this judge - the one who had been elected merely six years out of law school and installed just last week - well, her competency remained to be seen. This was her first trial, and while he had known her to be an excellent attorney he had no idea how she would run her courtroom.

Gold knew Judge French; had known her ever since she had clerked for the DA’s office in law school. She was brilliant, and kind, and fair - everything a good attorney would want in the judge hearing his case. But she was also beautiful: bright blue eyes and auburn hair, a dazzling smile that was always sincere. From the first moment he had met her eight years ago, Gold had fallen hard and fast.

Gold, you idiot, she will be a great judge. Relax, old man. And try not to pass out.  
Gold moved back to his computer, saving his work. His reply brief was finished, and he sent it to his paralegal, Jeff Chapeau, to file. He would need a copy of it for the hearing tomorrow; luckily local rules played in the prosecution’s favor and allowed him to file his reply up until the very last minute. Snapping his briefcase shut, he pushed back from the desk with more force than necessary, grabbed his cane, and limped out of the office.

****

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Gold yelled at the stove. The butter had burned, turning his shrimp scampi a disgusting brown, and he had run out of garlic for the bread in the oven; which meant they would be eating plain toast for dinner. He swatted at the smoke wafting from the hot pan, hoping to diffuse it before the smoke alarm went off. The thing was a bitch to turn off, and he’d have to haul ass up to the attic to do it.

“What’s wrong, dear husband?” His wife had come in through the garage during his outburst.  
She dropped her keys on the kitchen table and moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“I can’t do anything right,” he said, turning in her arms to face her, stepping forward as she backed against the center island, a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

“You’re lying,” Belle countered, as he lowered his lips to hers for a lingering kiss. “I know you to be very competent at many things,” she said, her lips moving against his as she spoke. “You married me. That’s one thing you did right.” She giggled at her own joke.

Gold smirked as he released her to pull the singed bread out of the smoking oven. “That is true, my dear. And it was the best decision I ever made.” He threw the pan into the sink in disgust. “Even so, dinner is burned.”

Belle wrinkled her nose at the odor of burned food and smiled. “At least you cooked. Your wife couldn’t even be bothered to go to the market.” She hoisted herself up on the island counter, swinging her legs slightly, watching her husband with a smile.

Gold turned back to her, and a surge of pride ran through his chest. She was beautiful and talented and kind, and empty stomach or not, he was a lucky bastard if there ever was one.

“Any bright ideas, your Honor? I’m hungry.”

“Me too. How about pizza,” Belle answered, hooking a finger under Gold’s belt to pull him closer.

“I thought you were hungry.”

“Oh, I am. Starving.” She wrapped her legs around his backside, bringing him closer, and grabbed his tie to pull his face to hers.

****

“Killian Jones!” Sheriff Swan called out to the group of men shackled to the metal bench, All were clad in orange correctional scrubs, and they reeked. As long as she had been Grimm County Sheriff, she thought she could get used to the perp walk, (the least demanding but most demeaning task of her job) but the grimy men smelling of urine and body odor were something she could never become accustomed to.

Hoots and hollers answered her, the cat calls and filthy innuendo reverberating against the concrete walls of the holding cell. A thin, tanned man stood up from the back, shuffling forward in shackles. His features were dark and his hair shaggy and oily, but he smiled cockily, raising one eyebrow in an earnest but failing attempt to appear charming. Emma rolled her eyes as he leaned in.

“Aye, beautiful,” Jones replied, and Emma tried to place his accent. It was even and practiced, she thought. Must be fake. She stifled a laugh and turned to him, then closed her eyes in an attempt to survive the awful stench of regurgitated rum.

“Oh my God,” Emma whispered as her eyes watered from the smell. Oblivious to the real effect he was having on the sheriff, Jones didn’t miss a beat. He leaned closer, so close that Sheriff Swan put up her baton to keep him at bay.

“Oh, you’ll be screaming that tonight, love,” Jones surled, and Emma’s eyes narrowed. She held up her left hand to show a sparkling diamond wedding band, then curled four fingers down to flip the most elegant bird Jones had ever seen. He backed off, sensing her anger, but couldn’t resist one last quip, one last desperate ploy for attention.

“Your husband must be so proud,” he snarked at her as she began to push him forward with her baton thought the cell doors and into the corridor. Two deputies fell in step behind her, and she shoved Jones forward, impatient and irritated with the small-time drug runner.

“My wife is very proud,” Emma said as she pushed Jones forward toward the courtroom door. “I think you might know her,” she said, following Jones through the double doors that led to the courtroom. “Regina Mills.”

Emma ushered Jones to the defense’s table. Storybrooke’s mayor, Regina Mills, had acted as a confidential informant on the case, bravely inserting herself into the drug smuggling world as a dirty politician. She had accepted thousands of dollars in bribes from Jones while working undercover for the MBI, fooling the drunken misanthrope and helping to crack the shell of a huge drug trafficking ring. 

“You should have known better than to try running drugs through her town, and you should certainly not hit on her wife.” The sheriff shoved Jones into his chair, pleased when he winced in pain from hitting his knee against the table.

The courtroom was mostly empty. Sheriff Swan took her seat in the front row of the gallery, but to the left of Jones, who was seated just on the other side of the bar, in hopes of missing most his repulsive odor. The bailiff, Graham Loup, was seated in the witness stand, waiting for the proceedings to begin. There was also Sidney Glass, the local newspaper’s crime reporter, seated in the jury box, and Ariel Delmare, the court reporter. The hearing wasn’t to begin for another 30 minutes, so Emma pulled out her phone to check email. Her wife, Regina, always sent a picture of their son, Henry, when Emma had to be in court. This morning it brought a smile to her face, a picture of both Regina and Henry blowing kisses through the phone.

“You and the wifey fancy a little threesome, then?” Jones smirked, raising a black eyebrow and scratched at the patch of hair on his chest.

“Charming,” Emma replied, without looking up from her phone. “Keep it up and you’ll be in contempt of court faster than you can say ‘Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.’ And yes, before you ask, the judge is a very good friend of mine.”

With a scowl, Jones snapped his eyes forward to wait for the judge.


	2. Chapter 2

Belle unlocked the back door of the courthouse, punching in her code with trembling fingers. This was going to take everything she had; first-day jitters notwithstanding. The electorate had entrusted her with this responsibility; all during the election she had promised to rule fairly but severely. Crime would not be tolerated on Belle French’s watch; today’s hearing was the first test of her pledge. However, upon reading the briefs and reply, the Motion to Dismiss seemed pretty straightforward. The defense had pressed for oral argument and she was quick to grant it, not wanting to leave any room for appeal.

She arrived to her chambers, locking the door behind her, and smiled as she saw the oversized bouquet of red and pink roses sitting on her desk. Her father was the local florist, which meant he could get past Bailiff Graham to deliver them to her private office. She pulled the card, expecting to see her father’s familiar scrawl, or Emma’s messy print. Instead, she blushed as she read the neat, carefully written words:

I know what lies underneath that robe. Love, your secret (not-so-secret) admirer.

Belle smirked as she slid the card back into the envelope and placed it behind other papers in the top drawer of her desk. Her - their - secret still flustered her, and her brow crinkled in worry. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Just get through the case, Belle, and worry about that some other time. 

She whipped around as she heard her chamber door open, almost sliding out of the fine leather chair. John sauntered into her office and closed the door behind him, having entered her chambers through the courtroom, 

“Did anyone see you?” Belle asked in a hushed tone. “Hurry, lock that door!”

“Calm down sweetheart, your dirty little secret is safe.” He kidded with her, placating her worry. “Graham and Emma were looking at something on her phone and I think the defendant has passed out,” he said, gathering her against his chest. 

Belle melted into the hug, laying her cheek against his chest. He smelled of sandalwood and spice; a sexy, incredibly masculine scent that Belle could never get enough of. 

“Are you ready?” he asked softly, the thoughtful concern in his voice soothing her nerves. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted, pulling from his embrace to lean against the desk. “I mean, I am, but…I’m just nervous, I guess.”

“Don’t be,” he said, taking one of her hands in his. “Besides, I am the one who will be doing the work. And it won’t be that hard. It’s Midas, for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t argue his way out of a paper bag.” John stepped closer, bringing their joined hands to the slight bulge in his suit pants.

He leaned into her and kissed her, his breath quickening. “I know how we could calm those nerves,” he said, stroking her hand up and down his crotch. Belle felt him harden and swell under the fabric, and the first clench of arousal tugged between her thighs. 

In spite of herself, she giggled. “We don’t have time! What are you doing?” her voice faltered as he began kissing the side of her neck. “You should stop before someone catches us!”

“No fool would break the lock of a judge’s chamber,” he replied, sliding his warm palm up her knee and under her skirt. His thumb sought her core, and Belle gasped as he found her clit, massaging the bud over her thin lace panties. 

“We’ll run out of time,” she whispered into his ear, before taking the lobe between her lips and sucking lightly. Belle tried to protest once more, but she had already given in, the hot hardness of him in her hand and the way he stroked her so expertly pulling her past the point of reason. 

“It’s your courtroom,” he reminded her, answering her fears. “It’s up to you. We are all at your mercy.” 

She pulled back and looked into his eyes, finding infinite love there behind the fog of arousal. He was distracting her, but she knew he had her best interests at heart, and the thought of fucking her secret husband on her desk in her chambers was just a little too hard for Belle to resist. 

She smiled as her gaze fell to his lips - and god, how she loved his lips. Warm and wet and firm, the kisses they shared never failed to set her on fire. She sucked his lower lip between hers, relishing in the fleshy firmness of it, and then released it with a pop. She pulled at his belt buckle, unlooping the fine leather from the brass ring, popped the button of his pants, and carefully tugged the zipper down. His pants slid to the floor, and Belle pulled his boxer briefs down , reaching in from the waistband to grab his hot, hard cock. Her mouth watered as she pulled it out, the heavy weight of it resting in her small palm, his girth almost too much for her tiny hand. She wanted to suck it, to taste his salty, smooth flavor, but that would have to wait. 

She urged him closer, wrapping one ankle behind his knee, and scooted closer, her ass teetering on the edge of her desk. His thumb continued stroking her folds, dipping lower to seek out and rub her sensitive bud in a lazy, frustrating pattern. He knew how to prepare her, how to make her wet, and she could feel the moisture pooling in her lace panties. She was more than ready. 

John yanked the gusset of her panties to the side, and Belle drew him in. He pressed his tip in, slowly, the way he knew she liked. The warm and slick tightness of her almost had him coming right then, so he stilled himself, griting his teeth to gain control of his passion. He continued rubbing small circles over her nub, pressing firmly to one side then the next, his strong, nimble fingers knowing exactly how to bring her to the edge but keep her from falling. 

Belle’s back arched involuntarily, and she had to place her hands on the desk behind her back to support herself. The change in position opened her up , pulling John deeper into her core. 

He kept his eyes open, greedy for the sight of her as she lost herself to their lovemaking. Her eyes were slammed shut and lips parted and swollen, a lady wanton with desire. Her breasts danced in time with his thrusts under her white silk blouse, her hard nipples tenting the fine material. She was a vision, mesmerizing; a deliciously debauched beauty, and all his. The angle of their position made her impossibly tight, and he was going to come hard and fast. He quickened his massaging, lightening the pressure on her clit but rubbing faster, faster, faster until at last her velvety channel begin to flutter and clench around him. 

“Fuck,” John rasped, relishing the feel of her slick, tight pussy clenching around him. 

He placed his other hand behind her lower back to steady her as he continued to thrust hard, snapping his hips, the head of his cock hitting that amazing spot deep inside. Belle’s head dropped back and she moaned. 

“Come for me, baby.” His voice was low and deep, his brogue washing over her like a wave, his breath on her skin the lightest massage. He wanted to make her scream, in that moment he wanted the entire world to know that she was his. 

Belle bit her lip, trying but failing not to make a sound, as the surge of pleasure spiraled beyond her control. He was pounding hard and deep into her, his thumb on her clit pushing her up to amazing heights. She was paralyzed, dangling at the precipice, and it felt so, so good. She was wound incredibly tight, she could feel every inch of his hard, fat cock as he thrust, the assault on her clit making her dizzy. The soles of her feet were burning, so lost she was, and she felt as though she were on fire. She lifted her head and caught John’s gaze, his hooded eyes piercing her soul, the warm amber embers stoking her hotter and hotter until she burned from the inside out. The look in his eyes sent her over the edge, and she came hard, biting her lip to keep from screaming. She felt a rush of warmth and a trickle from her core, and they were coming together, the realization pushing her further, intensifying her orgasm. 

Belle moved to stop John’s hand, the sensations overwhelming as she came down from her high. He moved both hands to her neck, pulling her up from reclining and closer to him.

“I love you, Judge French.”

“I love you too, husband.”

Belle placed a peck to his cheek, and felt him soften and pull out, and she pulled two tissues from the box on her desk to wipe between her thighs.

“Thank the lord my robe is long and black.” She giggled, trying to right her clothing and clean up the mess they had made. 

John was straightening his trousers, tucking in his baby blue oxford button down. “Yes, well, I don’t have the luxury of a robe,” he said, pointing to a small drip on the front of his suit pants. Belle laughed out loud, the sheer ridiculousness of their activities becoming ever more apparent as her mind cleared. 

“Oh, it will dry. “ Belle dismissed his feigned outrage. “Now, go. We can’t leave together. And - you’re late.” She winked, pushing him to the hallway door. 

John tried to protest, but Belle was already in character, the smart, no-nonsense judge of one week. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” she whispered, shutting and locking the door behind him. 

Belle checked herself in the mirror of the en suite bath, reapplying her lipstick and removing the slight smudges of mascara. She ran her fingers through her auburn curls, taming them back into a messy bun, then pulled her robe off the hook behind the door. Donning it hastily, she moved to the door in the front of her chambers, opening it slightly and nodding to the bailiff.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold, barely hearing Graham’s clear, booming voice.

“All rise! The State Court of Maine, Grimm County is now in session. The Honorable Mirabelle French presiding…”


End file.
